Impulse
by AXIVII
Summary: In that split second, she wants to turn back time. She wonders what it would have been like if she hadn't done this. If she hadn't given into her darkest thoughts and fears and simply went back home, acting like it never happened.


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_"I love you, I do, but I am afraid of making that love too important. Because you're always going to leave me… We can't deny it. You're always going to leave."_

_~ David _Levithan_, __Every Day_

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She is on the verge of breaking. The cracks that she has been trying so hard to keep plastered with prescribed pills which she keeps mixing…the cracks are becoming wider and splitting through her very being. Her mental state is no place to be right now and she can't seem to get a grip of herself.

_I'm losing it. I'm fucking losing it._

Something— Something that has been resting heavy in her heart these past few weeks finally seems to claw its way through her throat, choking her and she's suddenly crying. And she can't stop. She's crying and crying and she's losing it.

She wants to lean into someone and feel warm arms wrap around her, reassuring her that she's not crazy. That she's fine. She'll always be fine. And then she remembers Paul and she cries even harder, her breath uneven. Goddammit, the one person she wanted, loved and even trusted… Fucking Paul. He's an asshole. She knows he is a no-good bastard and still her heart twists painfully and she swears she can feel it ripping into two along with the realisation that she would've given him anything had he only stayed faithful by her side. But no. The sickening truth is that he is one of _them_. He lets them into their home, invades her privacy, her very body. Her biology is her own. And he uses her naïve love for him to get his way. And even now she still can't seem to truly hate him, even though she desperately wants to.

No. There's no one here to comfort her now. She's on her own.

The Huxley train station surrounds her in the dark of the night and she's walking up and down the platform, her heels clicking against the concrete. She's not sure why she's here. It is an impulsive decision on her part. One moment she is fine, and then the next she finds herself racing across the platform with a morbid intention in mind.

A train had passed by earlier but she had managed to regain some sense of control and drag herself away from the edge. She still hasn't left the platform yet. No. She's waiting for something. The wicked desperation to escape still hasn't left her. Her heart is beating too loudly and she can't bring herself to walk away from the train station to go back home. Back to the warmth. Back to Paul. Back to Alison, Cosima, maybe even Katja and the others. The clone club. Back to Art, her partner in crime…

Oh, God. Maggie Chen.

She killed Maggie Chen.

Her hands shake and she's trembling. _Oh, God. Oh, God. What have I done? What have I done? I killed her. Oh my God, I fucking _killed_ her._

She sees it play out all too clearly in her head. The whole scene. Maggie… She was right there. And she shot her. She shot the woman.

Sure, it came out looking like an accident. And, oh sure, she's suspended from the station in the meanwhile until the hearing is over and she is declared able to be active in the station again. But it still doesn't escape her mind.

She had to do it. Her reason is justified. Maggie Chen was from the Proletheans. If she didn't kill her, Helena could've killed them all. She's protecting them. She's protecting everyone — Alison, Cosima, Katja, and the rest.

Dear lord, she just _killed a woman_ in cold blood.

She's a homicide detective, not a goddamn _murderer_.

She needs another pill. She needs to get a hold of herself and stop the shaking. She grips the sides of her blazer and tries to make it stop, but her teeth are chattering and she doesn't know why she feels scared.

No, that's a lie. Of course she knows why she's scared. She's been scared for a long time now. So many things are crowding her mind and she curses her curiosity. There _is_ such a thing as knowing too much and now she can't take it back. Neolution. Aldous Leekie. The sickness. The monitors. The invasive medical examinations. Rachel Duncan. The scientists. The illegal cloning experiment. The _secrets_.

The secrets are the worst. She is so sick of lying. So sick of lying to everyone and she wants to scream and tell them everything. She wants to break down and cry for help. She is drowning in her lies and her unhealthy secrets. Her head is spinning and she needs help. She doesn't want to admit it. And she most certainly doesn't want to go to her psychologist and admit that she can't cope. Her psychologist wouldn't understand. No one would. She is on her own and she hates it.

Another train is coming and her legs twitch towards it automatically. The image crosses her mind and instead of the sick feeling she expects, she gets a sense of relief from it instead. And it scares her. It is enough to jolt her away from the oncoming train which then rushes past her, the cool wind slicing across her face and letting her blazer fly behind her. The train soon disappears into the distance, leaving an empty silence on the platform.

She rubs her arms together before running her hands through the front of her unruly hair. She lets part of the hair fall over the side of her face, casting a shadow over her normally bright and alert eyes. There is something incredibly dull about them now, like someone has come and extinguished the flaming fire that usually burns with the heated intensity of her personality.

Empty cans and old newspapers skitter across the concrete, slapping against the pillars. She stands there, for a moment, contemplating in silence. Precisely what, she isn't sure of. Her thoughts keep running into each other without any real sense or order. She doesn't even know what she is doing here. She doesn't want to stay on this platform, so close to the rails this late at night. Logically, she knows that she is on the verge of making a very bad mistake. One wrong step, and she will crack. And she knows it. _Feels_ it.

But logic is not her best ally tonight. And so she stays. Pacing across the platform, sweat building up at the nape of her neck and across her forehead.

Another train approaches a platform a little further away from her, slowing down. But she barely registers it this time.

She checks her phone. One voicemail. She presses the phone to her ear and listens. Her breath becomes uneven when she recognises Paul's smooth voice laced with concern. Fake concern. He mentions that he will be back in a few more days. He asks about her day. He tells her not to think too much about the Maggie Chen shooting, and that he loves her.

She's sobbing again. She's sobbing because she already knows the truth — he doesn't love her, it's all an act for the sake of science and he is a goddamn _liar_.

She hasn't been able to sleep recently. The thought that, at any point, even though he's not home at the moment, Paul will let them in again. That the doctors will come and medically examine her in her sleep again without her consent. While he lets them. While _she_ lets them. Because she's asleep and she can't do anything about it. And so she tries her best to stay awake and only sleeps when the night nears to the early morning hours of four. And even then she doesn't feel safe. The nightmares invade her senses and she is sure that people are talking behind her back at the station.

She has been swallowing down too many benzodiazepines and she is surprised that she hasn't overdosed yet. She needs to stop the anxiety. She's desperate. The sleepless nights and the abuse of her medication has set her on edge. She's aware that she's losing her grip. Losing her mind. The paranoid part of her feels as though this is _their_ doing. They _want_ her to suffer. They _want_ her to feel this way. She is way beyond depression now, and she knows it.

Look at what she's done. She doesn't even recognise herself in the mirror these days.

Her mind skips to the hearing. What will she say? What can she even do? Then her mind travels back to her real dilemma. _The clones._

When she is wide awake in the daylight, it is much easier to convince herself that these problems don't exist. Or, at least, they seem less of a threat.

But deep in the night, when her thoughts spin so frantically, she swears everything is as real and as dangerous as the hands she looks at, wondering the capability of being a murderer.

She's shaking again, and it all comes rushing back to her. The pain in her heart is too much and there is an uneasy feeling in her stomach. Like something bad is going to happen. She feels queasy. She wants to warn the others about their monitors, but she doesn't want them to be afraid. Not like her. She doesn't want them to end up like her.

She's breathing too quickly now and she's trying to keep calm, but the tears are spilling again and she's sobbing. Her whole life is a lie. How can she keep living like this? Like she's an object, not even human. She's an experiment.

_I can't. Oh, God, I can't. I can't live like this anymore._

Her fragmented thoughts are criss-crossing the lines of reality and imaginary. She can't tell them apart anymore. She can't keep track of the lies she is telling people. She doesn't want to know anything anymore. She just wants to forget about it. Forget that she's tangled up in this mess. She wants to be normal.

And she cries because she knows that she can never have that. She can never be free.

She is taking off her heels before she even registers the action. Adrenaline and noradrenaline pump throughout her bloodstream, setting off the triggers that quicken her breathing and make her heart race. Her blood pressure is rising and she doesn't even stop herself when she drops her handbag onto the platform, sliding off her blazer, folding it neatly and placing it beside her shoes.

Another train. She hears the sound. She sees the light.

At this very moment, there is no doubt in her mind. This is it. This time she doesn't stop herself.

She turns around and—

It's her. She recognises her. Of course she does. This is the same face she sees every morning and every night in the mirror. The same face found on the photographs scattered across her fridge. She doesn't even care. Seeing her only reminds her of what she is running away from.

Still. For the first time, there is something screaming inside her head, begging her to stop, pleading in desperation to stop this madness.

_There's still time. You don't have to do this. Please._

The train nears. Her body disobeys her mind, wanting this agony to stop. She walks forward, the lights of the oncoming train almost blinding her now. She wants this. Oh, God. She wants this. She doesn't want to live like this anymore. She wants to be free. From all of it.

As she takes her last step to the edge of the platform, her mind is in chaos. _Stop. Stop, Beth. Stop._

But she can't.

The wind roars.

She doesn't stop. The train doesn't stop.

In that split second, she wants to turn back time. She wonders what it would have been like if she hadn't done this. If she hadn't given into her darkest thoughts and fears and simply went back home, acting like it never happened.

In the flash of bright lights, she steps off the platform.

It's too late.


End file.
